Beauty of the Outcasts
by Cgal the Avenger
Summary: Christine wonders about the true nature of her "angel" of music. After a fateful encounter with the phantom, she goes on a journey through France's underworld...and learns of beauty in unexpected places.
1. Chapter 1

Phantom of the Opera

Chapter 1

"Christine…Christine…"

I heard the voice of my tutor, angelic, yet powerful, ring throughout the room. I sat there, bewildered, untrusting of my own voice, yet again. _Who is this man who greets me as a lover would? Who is this marvelous angel and spirit who has trusted me with his voice?_ "Yes, angel?" I whispered, remembering that although I seemed alone, the ballet dancers would patter down the hall, and listen in on this conversation meant for only I. "Why so tentative in your answer, sweet singer? Am I a being that terrifies you?" the voice said, sending a slight shiver down my spine. "You shake, my Christine. What is the matter?" "I am not afraid…" I replied, placing a false bravado in my voice. Keep your wits about you…no matter who he is, no matter how powerful he may be, he cannot harm one who is innocent. "Tonight you sang beautifully. Clear and crisp…however, you were yet again distracted. What, pray tell, is keeping your mind away from the music?" he asked.

His voice took on a new edge. Sharper, more agitated than the usual admonitions he gave me. I felt a deep irritation stirring within me. "Angel, unlike you, I am human, with human flaws and tendencies. I cannot help if I was distracted… what you ask of me is something that is impossible." "You are being defensive, who are you protecting?" the angel said. "You are angry?" What do you care of my life. You are my tutor, nothing more," I said. I was weary of this, tired of him. He seemed to have inserted himself in my mind, my life, and was now unable to let go. "As your tutor I advise-" I got up grabbing my jacket. "Where are you going?" "To think, angel. I will be back tomorrow, at the same time." I left the room, closing the door before he could speak again.

I stood outside, realizing that it was now night, and I was alone. I could have gone back, to fetch a candle, anything to light up the hall, but I decided against it. I walked forward, eyes adjusting to the gloom. I thought of the angel, and his odd nature. He was possessive, harsh, and, although he had never shown it outright, tempestuous. These are the characteristics of a man…not a celestial being. I stopped, suddenly hearing a loud creak in the rafters above. My heart pounded. It is only the house settling. _Come, you must go, or Madame Giry shall be most displeased_. I kept walking, now wary of every shadow. Would the angel be displeased if he knew the reason I was distracted was because of Raul? The sudden presence of my oldest childhood companion had brought back memories. I saw the light of the lantern appear before me. _The watchman_, I thought, hurrying closer. "Monsieur, might I please accompany you out? I have forgotten my light," I called out. He didn't respond. "Monsieur?" I said, growing worried. I walked faster. The light was extinguished, and the room once more plunged into darkness.

I felt frozen. "Who is out there?" I yelled into the darkness. I ran forward to where the light once was lit, and tripped over the lantern. Falling to my knees, I grabbed it, quickly finding an old match in my pocket and lit it.

I looked up, to see the hanging body of Monsieur Blanch. I stumbled back, yelping, but then snapping my lips over the scream. _If Blanch has just died, the killer is still near_. I looked wildly around, trying to discern a person shaped shadow from the darkness. I saw none. I looked up at the body, shuddering. I saw a dagger protruding from his stomach. Grimacing, I reached for it, and pulled it out. If the murderer came back, I wanted to meet with him better prepared than Monsieur Blanch. I nearly shrieked as the blood, still warm, dripped onto my hand. I looked all around for the assailant, heart pounding, and blood roaring like an ocean through my ears.

I looked to where the door was. I ran towards it, lungs on fire and muscles pinching in my abdomen. But I felt the strong, shadowed arms of a man grab me by the shoulders. I turned and slashed at him with the weapon, but I felt as a cloth that smelled of chloroform was placed across my face.

Darkness crept over my vision, and I felt no more.


	2. Chapter 2

Phantom of the Opera

Chapter 1

"Christine…Christine…"

I heard the voice of my tutor, angelic, yet powerful, ring throughout the room. I sat there, bewildered, untrusting of my own voice, yet again. _Who is this man who greets me as a lover would? Who is this marvelous angel and spirit who has trusted me with his voice?_ "Yes, angel?" I whispered, remembering that although I seemed alone, the ballet dancers would patter down the hall, and listen in on this conversation meant for only I. "Why so tentative in your answer, sweet singer? Am I a being that terrifies you?" the voice said, sending a slight shiver down my spine. "You shake, my Christine. What is the matter?" "I am not afraid…" I replied, placing a false bravado in my voice. Keep your wits about you…no matter who he is, no matter how powerful he may be, he cannot harm one who is innocent. "Tonight you sang beautifully. Clear and crisp…however, you were yet again distracted. What, pray tell, is keeping your mind away from the music?" he asked.

His voice took on a new edge. Sharper, more agitated than the usual admonitions he gave me. I felt a deep irritation stirring within me. "Angel, unlike you, I am human, with human flaws and tendencies. I cannot help if I was distracted… what you ask of me is something that is impossible." "You are being defensive, who are you protecting?" the angel said. "You are angry?" What do you care of my life. You are my tutor, nothing more," I said. I was weary of this, tired of him. He seemed to have inserted himself in my mind, my life, and was now unable to let go. "As your tutor I advise-" I got up grabbing my jacket. "Where are you going?" "To think, angel. I will be back tomorrow, at the same time." I left the room, closing the door before he could speak again.

I stood outside, realizing that it was now night, and I was alone. I could have gone back, to fetch a candle, anything to light up the hall, but I decided against it. I walked forward, eyes adjusting to the gloom. I thought of the angel, and his odd nature. He was possessive, harsh, and, although he had never shown it outright, tempestuous. These are the characteristics of a man…not a celestial being. I stopped, suddenly hearing a loud creak in the rafters above. My heart pounded. It is only the house settling. _Come, you must go, or Madame Giry shall be most displeased_. I kept walking, now wary of every shadow. Would the angel be displeased if he knew the reason I was distracted was because of Raul? The sudden presence of my oldest childhood companion had brought back memories. I saw the light of the lantern appear before me. _The watchman_, I thought, hurrying closer. "Monsieur, might I please accompany you out? I have forgotten my light," I called out. He didn't respond. "Monsieur?" I said, growing worried. I walked faster. The light was extinguished, and the room once more plunged into darkness.

I felt frozen. "Who is out there?" I yelled into the darkness. I ran forward to where the light once was lit, and tripped over the lantern. Falling to my knees, I grabbed it, quickly finding an old match in my pocket and lit it.

I looked up, to see the hanging body of Monsieur Blanch. I stumbled back, yelping, but then snapping my lips over the scream. _If Blanch has just died, the killer is still near_. I looked wildly around, trying to discern a person shaped shadow from the darkness. I saw none. I looked up at the body, shuddering. I saw a dagger protruding from his stomach. Grimacing, I reached for it, and pulled it out. If the murderer came back, I wanted to meet with him better prepared than Monsieur Blanch. I nearly shrieked as the blood, still warm, dripped onto my hand. I looked all around for the assailant, heart pounding, and blood roaring like an ocean through my ears.

I looked to where the door was. I ran towards it, lungs on fire and muscles pinching in my abdomen. But I felt the strong, shadowed arms of a man grab me by the shoulders. I turned and slashed at him with the weapon, but I felt as a cloth that smelled of chloroform was placed across my face.

Darkness crept over my vision, and I felt no more.

Chapter 2

I had hazy recollections of that sleep. The fragments are the only substantial memories, and each time, I entered back into my suspended animation. Once, I was on the water, rocking in a boat with mist dampening my face. Then, a figure, masked, bent down over me, but I never could hear what he said. Finally, I remember candlelight dully glowing. But there was no more.

I finally awoke, groggy and disoriented. I lay in a richly furnished room, the covers beneath my body. I tried to sit up, but was quickly curtailed by an overwhelming dizziness. I looked around, vision slightly blurry. I blinked, and saw there was a door. I rolled out of the bed, stumbling towards it. My hands closed clumsily on the door knob. I did not know where I was, only that I needed to run, get away from this place. Once the door opened, I ran with difficulty through the long hall, looking for a way out. MY mind was foggy from the drugs, and I braced myself against the wall on order to simply move.

Suddenly, I was aware of…music. The thunderous and nearly deafening sound of an organ rang through the hall. I still searched for a door, another room anything. However, every door was locked. My muddled mind couldn't comprehend that if the killer wanted me here, he would keep me here, espescially with locked doors.

As I stumbled and searched, I was aware that there was aman singing among the instruments. I went throught the hallway, entering a different chamber-this one was larger than the others. The sound emanated from it. And finally, I could discern the voice from the organ.

I nearly gasped. The voice…it was so familiar in its beauty, its dynamic. It pressed against my ears, grandiose, but intimate in its nature. The man sang to me, communicated his pain, his joy, and his sadness all in one. I closed my eyes, and let the music wash over me in waves, carrying me away with it. As he entered into the next chorus of the unnamed song, I felt a tear well in my eye. His song…is so full of pain. But he makes it beautiful. I wiped the tears from my eyes, and decided to leave.

I tripped over my own feet, and landed with a clearly audible thud. I held my breath as the man stopped playing. He turned, and I could see that he was masked, and had on a traveler's hat. I tried to run, but I misjudged the distance, and tripped once more. Before I could try once more, the man was behind me, and now lifted me up with his arms. "My dear… you've awoken much earlier than I thought," he said softly. I knew, with one burst of recognition, that the voice I had just heard was of my angel of music. But he was no angel. He was man.

Then, my mind comprehended something else. This man had kidnapped me…and was the killer of Monsieur Blanch.

I tried to push him away, violently shoving away. "Let me go bastard!" I shrieked, finally breaking free. I ran with more coordination, brought on by the urgency of this situation. I didn't care where I went. I only knew that I needed to leave this man before caught me, killed me as well. I could hear him yell after me. "Christine! Please stop! Come back to me!" This only urged me to go faster.

I found my way back to my room, and locked myself in. I heard as he pounded furiously on the door. "Christine, please. Let me speak with you. My dear…" He kept knocking, imploring, begging for me to come out. I said nothing, calculating the severity of what had just happened.

I paced there for hours. There were no windows in the room, so I could not simply look outside to see where I was. The masked man still lurked outside. I could hear his steady breathing, and wondered if he was asleep. If he were, I could simply creep away, and find the exit to the place. But it was too risky. What if he were to awaken as I stepped over his sleeping body? What would become of me then? The police are sure to be searching for me, I thought. That is, if Madame Giry did not simply assume that I ahd abandoned the company. They wouldn't assume so, would they?

"Christine." My heart skipped a beat as my abductor spoke. "Are you hungry? You must be. You've been there for nearly two hours." I stayed silent. For a while, there was only quiet between us. Finally, he spoke again, with more urgency and panic. "Please my Christine. Say something. You're silence kills me even more than your rage. I cannot bear it!" He now was passionate in his grief. "I am not yours," I whispered, voice coming out as a quiet rasp. "What?" "I am not your Christine!" I said louder. "I apologize. I simply meant…" he trailed off.

"You are no angel monsier. How dare you lie to me. How dare you deceive a young girl into believing such treachery, for convincing a girl of such a fantasy, and making her believe something so utterly ridiculous. You know what I have sacrificed, Monsier, to continue my tutelage ewith you. You became my entire life…all lies!"

"I never wished for you to feel so about me… I only wanted to teach." "Ha! You lie once more!" I said, anger building. "What was my intention then, Christine?" "Manipulation. You are manipulating my feelings even now." "How?" "You are gathering my sympathy so that I may not escape and tell the authoirties what you have done, murderer."

"Christine…" he stopped. I stared at the door. "At least accept food. You will starve to death in there. I…I cannot bear it," he said, choking on his words.

"Fine," I said, after much deliberation. "Unlock the door," he demanded. "I will not dine with you. If you disagree, I will simply wither in this room." I heard the man groan, and then shuffle away, his footsteps ringing hollowly down the hall. I waited until he was gone, then opened the door slowly. I slipped out of the room, only to turn into him once again. "You will not leave this place!" he said, grabbing me by the arm. "You tricked me!" I retorted, trying to agains extricate myself from his arms. "Ah, well with one wrong comes another," He hissed, pulling me down the hall. "Can you blame me for trying? I am a captive and you are my captor," I said and he pushed me into the room. "DO you think I am some rag doll to be pushed around?" I cried out as he sat me down. "You will dine alone, but you shall dine in this room


	3. Chapter 3

I gulped down the soup faster than I could taste it. Although I was repulsed at my captor, I was not repulsed enough to refuse food. Once done with my meal, I tested the door. Locked. I stood in the room, trying to find something to do. I went over to the shelves of books, dusty, and almost begging to be opened. I took the book of its shelf, and opened it.

It had no title, nor chapters. I frowned, then turned the page, to see scrawled, loopy handwriting. Was this the journal of my captor? Almost eagerly, I flipped the page.

_5 June, 1874_

I have found a new role in this opera house. The Opera Ghost. Ha! What fools. They would never guess the truth, that a monster, not specter, resides in their beloved theatre.

I was puzzled by these words. A monster? Did he mean that he murdered before? I read on, but the next pages were the same, detailing his various encounters with the managers, the ballet, the chorus, and other workers. I flipped idly, looking for some detail, something, that could help my escape.

How surprised I was when I flipped to an ink portrait of my dressing room. My eyes widened, and my mouth fell open. Not only was it my room…it was myself. I looked at the portrait, trembling. It was beautiful…he had drawn me like a goddess, her golden hair white in this portrait, streaming down her back like a pretty waterfall. Her eyes, clear and bright, looked straight on. Below this picture, were three, dangerous words. _"My beloved Christine"_.

All this time, my beloved and genius, tutor had been watching me. Hiding, away from the opera patrons in a secret place, existing as a ghost. Obsessing over me and my talent. My hands started to shake. He has been planning for me to visit him for quite some time, I concluded. The mirror, the music, the tutelage…it had all been a ploy, just so he could enter my heart, my mind, my soul, and plant some seed of love there.

Suddenly, I heard his footsteps. Panicking, I shoved the book back on the shelf, and sat down at the table. He entered the room, cloak sweeping behind him dramatically, as if he was a specter.

"You are finished with dinner?" I nodded, not trusting my own voice. He came closer to me, and I automatically shivered. "You shake in fear, or in cold?" "Cold," I said. This is a dangerous man. If I deny my love to him…what if he acts violently? "Fear," He concluded. He knelt beside me, looking my straight in the eye. It was then that I realized his eyes were yellow, and a piercing yellow at that. "My dear… I am sorry you had to find out that your beloved angel is mortal," He said softly. I tried to shift away from him, afraid of his nearness. "Please, don't leave," He said, voice sharp. I stopped, paralyzed. Where was the knife I had been carrying? It had to be somewhere.

"I am not afraid," I said, in a voice I barely recognized as my own. "Christine…I apologize." "Why did you bring me here?" I said, voice gathering strength. "Was it because I saw you kill? Did you not want me to go report who did it to the police?" He looked away from me. "Please Monsier, answer me. Did you, or did you not kill Monsieur Blanch?"

He still said nothing, his marvelous voice for once silenced. "I take you silence as yes, and I take your silence as being ashamed." I then tried once more to leave. "Christine." I turned. I was at the door. I could simply run to my room. "The reason I brought you here…is not because of what I have done." "Then why am I here?" I murmured.

I saw his arm muscles clench, and his jaw tighten. "Because you require more training child." He said. "Training? For what?" "I wish you to become a bigger diva than Carlotta, than any of those pretenders who screech their way to high notes. I may only do that, if you are here with me," He said, eyes fierce with a determined flame. "But monsieur, by now, the company thinks I have abandoned them," I replied. "Leave that to me. They shall receive a letter from their opera ghost claming that you are now under my tutelage, and will come back a star," He said.

I stood, there, not knowing what to say. What right did this man have to keep me here, underground? "To think… when you taught me, as the angel, although you were harsh, you were reasonable," I said. His jaw tightened, and he said in a hiss, "Do you think me mad, Miss Daae?" "No Monsieur, simply that this whole plan is a little much," I lied. "Now you lie. As my pupil, I will not allow deceit. Deceit burdens the spirit, which burdens the voice," he said. "Then wouldn't you have a the voice of a toad?" I said, immediately regretting the words as they came out of my mouth.

My once angel turned demonic, his whole body shaking with rage. "Respect is also appreciated. I am your maestro now. Treat me as so," he demanded, voice echoing off the walls. He took my arm and dragged me to my room. "Sleep well child. You shall need your strength tomorrow," he said, shutting the door with a loud slam.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

I sat on the bed, angry and confused. My tutor was capriciuso, and overall, a dangeorus man. He had never been this violent towards her as an angel. Perhaps because he has been revealed as man., I thought.

I knew that I could not escape from here…not after trying twice already. So I decided to follow his advice, and sleep. However, with that day's excitement, I was anxious, watching the door at every small noise, although I had locked it from the inside. I had the utmost feeling of paranoia that my maestro was watching, plotting. I stayed this way for several hours, until exhaustion overtook my fear, and I slept.

"Mademoiselle Daae? It is time."

I awoke to the sharp rapping of the man's knuckles on my door. "Mademoiselle? We really must start our lesson," he continued. I got up from the bed, shoulders aching dully from the exertions of yesterday. "I am awake," I replied, voice thick with the rasp of sleep. "There are clothes in the closet across from your bed. You may choose whatever dress you wish," my captor said. I looked in the closet to see at least a dozen dresses, each different from the other. I picked a plain and simple frock, and pinned my hair back into a bun.

I exited the room, where my teacher waited. "First, breakfast," he said. He led me back to the dining room. "You shall dine alone, as you wish," he said, but he seemed disappointed. As he left, I allowed myself to feel surprised. The man who had dragged and thrown me into my room last night was now letting me have my wish? I tried to think nothing of it, and instead ate the fruit. Its fresh…I realized. That had to mean we were in the city. But where? Once I finished breakfast, I left the dining room, where the maestro was, ready to lead me to rehearsal.

Once he had brought me to where the organ stood, he started to polish off the keys and fetch sheet music. "What shall I be singing today, maestro?" I said, trying to read his expressions behind the mask. He was silent and gave me the music. I stared at the black notes that squiggled and jumped across the paper. "Turn to page five, please. We'll start from the first aria."

"But…this is Carlotta's part-"No longer shall it be Carlotta's part!" the maestro said, eyes becoming hard and flinty. "That shrieking toad cannot possibly complete this part… the truth about Carlotta is that she loves the audience too much to be effective in this part… the role must begin as an innocent girl, wide eyed, and unsure of her place. Now child, if you please, begin at the start of the aria!" he snapped, causing me to flinch. His voice had become dream like when he was describing the role, and the harshness that followed was jarring. After a brief warm up we began.

"Pretty…but that is all it is. You must create depth to this person. You are not Christine, you are Anita, small, helpless, yet wondering of the world," "Perhaps I should learn the tune first before we delve into meaning?" I asked. He tilted his head. "Fine. But keep in mind, or else we shall have to backtrack. Again!" he demanded, quickly playing the introduction.

Through the entire day, it continued this way. Sing a few lines, stop, correct, and start over. By lunch, I was exhausted, more tired than all the other lessons. "You look hungry," the man said, lurching up from the piano. Too tired to argue, I simply nodded. He then walked, with almost panther-like grace, to the other room. Knowing that I could not run away, I stayed put, and stared into space, eyes focusing on the many stacks of music. The man came back, bringing with him a plate of food. "Come with me. No eating in the rehearsal room he said. He offered his arm, but I declined, instead letting him lead me.

He set down the plate of food in the dining room. "I…I will be back in an hour," he said, shifting uncomfortably. He then left the room, leaving the door closed, but this time, unlocked. I sat and started to eat, unnerved by the behavior of my host.

It would have been better if he were simply a raving lunatic, angry and demanding all the time. I would know his intentions then. But, these mood swings, from passionately angry, to almost gentle and refined, are confusing, I thought as I ate. Once finished, I wandered around the chamber. The now notorious journal with the drawing sat in the shelf from where I shoved it in last. I bit my lip and frowned, remembering the drawing. Should I read it, and further see what is wrong with my captor? Or perhaps ignorance was bliss. My fingers nearly touched the beaten book, but I snatched them away at the last moment. It would be too frightening to see, I concluded, walking away from the book case.

I left the room, needing to walk around and explore my prison. I had done nothing but run around and try to escape. It was about time I see where I was. Walking silently down the corridor, I wandered around, trying to figure out where I was. As I walked, I heard music. Sweet, wonderful music and the voice of a man that could break hearts. I was instantly drawn towards the sound, like a moth to a flame. Once in the music chamber, I fully experienced the glory that was my teacher.

His voice, haunting yet beautiful, pierced me through the heart and burrowed deep within me. All of a sudden, I was frightened of this man, who could hold me prisoner with only his voice. His spell could make me do anything. I would believe he was my protector, not a captor, in a heartbeat. Then, the music halted, and silence pressed to my ears. 

"Why did you stop?" The childish words fell from my lips before I could stop them. The man turned around. "This music… is not for you to hear," he replied. "IF it wasn't to be heard, why pla7y it loud for the whole neighborhood to hear, wherever we are," I replied. The man laughed softly. "What's so funny maestro?" I demanded, frowning. "We are not in a neighborhood or even a house. You, my dear, are in hell. My hell. It is only here that a demon such as myself should reside, so it is where I live," "If you think of yourself a demon, why murder Blanch?" I said, now confused and frightened.

"It is not just the actions that make me cursed," he replied, a bitter edge on his words. "Quite frankly Monsieur, actions are the only things that determine if we are, as you say, in hell or not," I said. He looked at me, his yellow eyes, now pained behind the white mask. "If only that were true, in my case," he murmured. I had never heard a voice so full of pain and suffering. Looking at this man made my own heart ache.

He got up from the piano. "Enough of this. Since you are here, I will assume that you are indeed finished with your meal. Begin your warm ups, and start from the beginning of the aria.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

As the days went on, I began to truly get to know my teacher. Glimpses of this shadowy, tortured man would surface, but he would simply brush it away with another order.

It was hard to hate this man. He was harsh and hard to please… but he also seemed almost like… a guardian angel. He entertained me with stories and myths that brought me to fantastic words. He fed me whenever I requested. Although his sharp admonitions frustrated me, he genuinely cared about the music, and how I added to it.

The only detail that frightened me was that mask. Smooth, white like paper, it concealed half of his face, half of his emotion. I only knew his feelings by looking at his eyes. The mask told me he wanted to hide something. His identity? Why should he? If he was to keep me for as long as he had said, it wouldn't make sense to hide his face. Besides, if I had seen half of his face, why should he not trust me?

"Maestro?" "Yes?" "Why do you wear a mask?"

The question was like a loaded gun to my teacher. He instantly stiffened on the piano bench, his hands curling into fists. "Child, it is none of your business." "I think it is, considering that trust between a student and teacher will make the lesson be taught better than if you were to hide things from me," I said, voice gaining strength. "Perhaps that is true for others. But for our kind of teaching, it is better to let some things stay secret," He said, eyes growing stormy. "Maestro, what are you hiding?" Have you ever heard the term, 'curiosity killed the cat'?" He said, trying to laugh it off with a jest. "I am being completely serious maestro. No more games," I said, watching as his jesting manner was slowly crumbling revealing true rage.

"Child, enough of this. Your curiosity may be applauded in other circumstances, but in this case, it is not appreciated." "DO you think of me as such a child that I will accept whatever you say? I may be younger than you, but I am not so naïve as you think. Monsieur, the sooner you accept that I am not a child, the better," I said. The maestro stared at me, disbelief and shock in his face. "Christine, I tell you now, whatever is under this mask should not ever be seen, by child, woman, or man," "Monsieur-"ENOUGH! FOR GOD'S SAKE! NO MORE!" He thundered, finally snapping. He turned away from me, and marched away, slamming the door behind him.

I stood there, paralyzed by his words. I was livid, frustrated, scared out of my wits… but, underneath everything, I felt…guilty. Why should I? He can take care of himself. He should have known I would ask, I thought. I bit my lip, wondering, still curious at what he needed to hide. But mostly, I felt like I should… apologize. The feeling was shocking, especially towards a man who had drugged and taken me against my will to his lair. And yet I pitied him.

I slowly walked to the door the man had slammed, and wandered into the corridor. I looked for him, trying various rooms. Most were locked. However, after trying one of the locked doors, I heard the sobs of a wretched man.

"Monsieur?" I said, knocking on the door softly. In an instant, his cries stopped. "I am very sorry….that I asked about the mask," I said, unsure.

No response.

"Monsieur? I would really appreciate it if you were to come out. Apologizing through a door is a bit uncomfortable," I said. The door then opened, and the maestro exited. At first glance, he seemed a pillar of strength. But watching him for so long, I knew that there was something amiss. His eyes were dull, lifeless things. I could see a slight tear streak on the unmasked portion of his face. His whole being seemed erroneous, as if a craftsman had tried to put him back together, and failed.

He stared at me. "Christine. I understand that you may want to explore your curiosity…" he trailed off, voice weakened and tired. I waited for him to continue. "But… there are some things that should never be….explored," he concluded. He started to walk away. "Monsieur?" "Yes Christine?" he said. "In order to…properly apologize…I'd-I'd like to know-"What is it that my pupil wishes?" he said, curiosity now in his eyes. "Your name sir. Not your full name but… I don't wish to call you maestro or teacher or monsieur all the time. And don't say it is angel because we all now that's not true," I said, producing a wan smile on his face. "My name is Erik," he said, flinching as he said the name, like it was a hot ember. "Erik? That's a lovely name," I said, touching his arm gently. Of all the things to be ashamed of, he chose his name?

"Thank you Christine," he said softly, my name slipping off his tongue like a sigh.

(Hey anyone who's been reading! If anyone could send me some reviews, it would be much appreciated! Bye, adios, ciao, au revoir, aloha,さようなら, Lebewohl, and etc...)

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	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Erik slowly started to suck me into a fantasy world, where the only lights were lamps, and music permeated the very air around me. However, I never seemed bored. Erik's tutelage and his stories about the world made it impossible.

"Have you ever heard the story of Persephone and Hades?" He once asked me after rehearsal.

"No," I said, enjoying a new story.

"It quite resembles your own at this moment. Well, the kidnapping part at least."

"What is this story?" I said, delighting in his now light and joyful tone, which I had only seen when he spoke about these things to me.

"Well, there once was a girl, the daughter of one of the goddesses, Demeter."

"Which gods? From all of the stories you have told, there are multiple. Greek, Norse, Roman…?" I said in a playful cadence.

"It does not matter, but it is Greek, if you must know. Now, the god of the underworld, Hades, which I may say bears a striking resemblance to me-"What? Because he lives in, as you say it, 'hell'?" I interrupted again.

"Yes, now please stop interrupting me. Persephone was whisked away to the darkest recesses of the underworld. Her mother, Demeter, cried for her every day. The crops started to wither, for if you remember from other myths, she was the goddess of grain and harvest."

I smiled a weak smile. "Well, there is nothing there that is from my life. My mother died when I was younger."

"Well, I'm sure if she were alive, she would be most distraught over your disappearance." Upon seeing my frown, he quickly added, "I would have sent a letter. Although your circumstances of this visit were…sudden, I have made sure that the two buffoons running my theater and Madame Giry knew that you were simply studying hear with me before making your second appearance on the stage, better than in Hannibal."

"How… _did _you tell them?" I asked, already regretting my question.

"I have my ways," he said.

"You mean the Opera Ghost has his ways? You are him, aren't you?" Erik stared into my eyes. Before, he would have shifted around uncomfortably… but I suppose that after a week of living with my teacher, he was willing to tell me without a being ashamed.

"Yes. I have done…things, I am not proud of," He said, still looking at me unflinchingly.

"Then why do you continue your….antics?" I said, instantly remembering the hanging body that was Monsieur Blanch.

"Habits that won't die. If you understood everything about my life, you perhaps may know why. But that, like my mask, must remain a secret."

I frowned. "Monsieur? How…_did_ you get the idea of being a ghost? And why here of all places? You were here long before I came, and will be here long after the theater has closed, in my opinion."

"At an early age, I realized I could be beautiful through my voice. I guess it was fate I came to this opera house. And as for becoming a ghost, my…condition, cannot make me an active member of society. So I chose to be invisible, yet still present enough that I would not become bored and tired of my existence. And so, the Opera Ghost was born," he said.

"I suppose I shall never get the full story, not without unmasking you," I replied, slightly frustrated at this lack of an answer. How could he not participate in society? Suddenly, I knew. "Erik, you're a criminal, aren't you? You chose to be invisible simply because you had to, or else you would be in jail or on the hangman's noose!" I said, my voice becoming more urgent, more accusing.

At each statement, Erik flinched, and I could see he was trying hard to not burst out in one of his passionate rages. "Yes, I have killed… but that is not the main reason I am hidden," he said almost mournfully. Then, he snapped back to the angry Erik I knew.

"It is none of your business what my life has become. No more of these questions and judgments!" he snarled.

I became angry very quickly, but I knew that provoking my maestro would only destroy the tiny and unspoken truce between us. Not wanting to destroy that peace, I chose my words carefully. "I am sorry that your life has become this way, and I am sorry I didn't use more delicate language. But… you have to admit that a student wonders about her teacher," I said gently.

Erik, surprised by my tone, then said, "Thank you,"

"May I…hear the last part of the story?" I asked, wanting to reinstate the gentle, refined Erik.

Erik sighed, and then said, "Perhaps another time, Christine."

Disappointed, I left the room, knowing that if I pushed the issue, he would be as stubborn and cold as the rock floors below our feet.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Time passed strangely in the abode of Erik. Was I there for a week? Two weeks? Or perhaps a month had gone by? Whenever I asked Erik about the issue, he would dodge the question. "There is only now, the only thing that matters is the progression of your studies, and when the performance happens," he had said.

"When does the performance happen?" I asked, feeling the frustration of a young child. At my small outburst, Erik smiled to himself, and said, "Later."

Yes, the truth was, a year could have passed, and I wouldn't know. Correction, I wouldn't care. Although my mentor was moody, and a figure that lurked in shadow, he would speak to me with the voice of loneliness that I somehow knew from my own past. I had heard that loneliness, and had experienced it for myself on several occasions. He spoke to me of all his experiences of the world, some painful, some full of an unexpected beauty. I would love after rehearsals, when he would stoop over his piano, thinking and planning of something else to tell me.

It wasn't just the stories that enchanted me, I soon found. It was his overall being that fascinated and sort of…_clicked_ with me.

And still…I found that I could not speak to him freely. Not with that mask upon his face. My own curiosity and distrust was becoming larger and larger, like a flame within me. What did Erik have to hide from me?

One night, after dinner, I crept into the rehearsal room, where I could hear Erik singing and practicing late into the night. After hearing me enter, he stopped, as if embarrassed that I had heard it.

"Keep singing, it is so beautiful," I said. Usually, he would respond with some halfhearted excuse. However, to my own excitement, he kept playing.

"Nighttime, sharpens, heightens each sensation,"

"Music stirs, and wakes imagination…"

"Silently the senses abandon their defenses…"

I looked over his shoulder at the sheet music, and slowly, but surely, started to sing with him. Surprised, he seemed so happy, and began to blend his voice with mine.

"Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams

"Purge your thoughts of the life you knew before

"Close your eyes, let your spirit start to soar," The high note seemed to rise all around us, enveloping us in a peaceful melodic mist. We looked at each other, both our eyes gleaming with enthrallment at the haunting melody, which had come from Erik's mind.

"And you live as you've never lived before."

His tenor voice was so wonderful, and melded perfectly into my soprano. That, and the simple, yet beautiful, melody, caused chills to rise up my spine. I felt like I was flying on dark wings. This music was made in the shadows, and made me simply feel shadowy and wicked.

Not knowing what I was doing, I started to sway gently to the music. I twirled as he sang, creeping up behind him. One hand stretched out in front of me…

And I gently, yet swiftly, yanked off the mask.

Erik let out a cry of pure fear. He whirled around to face me, mouth agape, and eyes panicked.

What I saw frightened me beyond imagination. Dear God! His face was swollen and contorted, some parts reddened. His face was a mish mash of skin and bone, his eyes sunken like a skull. That face! I had never seen anything like it in my life.

Erik grabbed an old cloth, to cover the monstrous features. But I had already seen it! Recognition filled the eye I could see, and his fear turned quick to livid fury.

"HOW DARE YOU! YOU PRYING LITTLE PANDORA! YOU LITTLE DEMON! IS _THIS_ WHAT YOU WANTED TO SEE?" He roared, launching his body towards me. HE screamed curses on my head and on his, as I backed away. I tripped on the floor, and he hovered over me, half of his face still covered by the cloth. I could barely hear all his screamed oaths because my own heart beat pounded like thunder. I looked at him, too paralyzed to say anything. And what could I say, as he screamed at me for my own folly, my own mistake?

Finally, he stopped, his own voice choking in his throat. I looked at him, probably with fear at the sudden outburst. I saw as the one yellow eye started to well with the beginnings of tears. Before I could say anything, he ran out of the room, grabbing g the mask as he left.

I sat on the floor for a good while, waiting for my heart to stop racing in my chest. And then I buried my own head in my hands. Stupid, stupid girl, I lashed out at myself. What did you expect? What did you really think was under that mask? I thought, clenching my fists. Of course he had to be disfigured! Why else would he hide only _half_ of his face? And I, with one careless move, had shown what he hadn't wanted to let others see. No wonder he was furious! _I _was furious, at my own stupid mistake.

I went after him, trying to find the humiliated Angel of Music. "Erik? Monsieur Erik?" I called out, looking around for him. I checked all of the locked doors. Before trying the fourth one, I heard the sound of a man crying.

"Erik?" I said softly, knocking quietly on the door.

No response.

"Erik, please forgive me. I had no idea," I said.

Still no response.

I suddenly realized that he was never going to open the door. He would sit there, wallowing in his own sadness. I knew my teacher. This was something he would never let go. Unless I were to do something.

"Monsieur, I am coming in," I said, finding the door to be unlocked. Before he could stop me, I swung open the door and entered.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

The room was dark. Not only was there a lack of light, the mood that was brought by the black walls and carpet exuded a sadness that was palpable in the very air. My eyes adjusted to the gloom, and I searched for my teacher. TO my own shock, I found him on his knees, back towards me. I could see his muscles clench and unclench, and his breathing labored. He was trying not to sob in front of me, I realized.

"Get out." Erik hissed.

"Monsieur, I came in here to apologize," I said.

"These are my private chambers. You have already disrespected me enough for today. I advise you to get out," he said, his voice soft yet more dangerous. I felt frustrated all of a sudden. I was coming to this man, tail between my legs, trying to right my own wrong…and he denied me?

He is very angry right now, I thought, trying to steady myself. Don't blame him if he seems callous. "Monsieur…"

"Didn't I tell you to leave?" Erik said voice sharper. But I could hear more than anger in his voice. There was sadness there. Grief that could make a man go insane if left unchecked. Sensing the urgency, I tried a different tactic.

"Monsieur, do you know…why I unmasked you?" I said softly, seeing his shoulders tense at the work unmask. "Curiosity to see what beast lay under this mask? Or did you childishly think I was a prince in disguise?" he said bitterly.

A brief flare of anger arose at these words, but I pushed it down. "Yes and no. I did feel curiosity. Acting on that feeling was a mistake, and I am sorry. But…"

"But what? What possessed you to do this?" He cried out, voice gaining volume and violence.

"But I wanted to trust you!" I said.

For a while, the man was silent.

"What?" Erik said quietly, his voice breaking on the word.

I took a deep breath, and continued. "After all this time…. After all you have told me… I felt guilty that I could not share anything as freely as you did, with my own teacher!"

"What do you mean, freely? I have told you only the sanitized version of my life. I have told you nothing," He said.

"Then maybe, we should tell each other these things. I removed that mask to take away the last secret, to let us be open with one another," I said.

"There are horrors in my life that you cannot even imagine, Christine. Horrors that you don't know. The mask wasn't the last secret," he said.

"Then let us remove those secrets away too!" I exclaimed. I placed my hand on his shoulder. "I want you to know, Erik… you are not just my teacher anymore. You've become my friend, my companion in music. And, most ironically, my guardian angel," I said, smiling weakly at the words. "You do not need to tell me all at once. But I am telling you now… whenever you need to, you can tell your horrors to me. You can trust me. And I, in return, can trust you with stories of my own life, with my own thoughts," I said.

I waited for his response.

"This… monstrosity that I call a face… do you fear it?" he said. "Erik, I would be lying if I said I thought you had the face of an angel. But it doesn't matter. If you want to remove your mask… you may do so," I said, steeling my own nerves to see the face once again.

Erik turned around, but his white mask was still upon his face. "Not now," He said. I nodded. "If you don't feel like taking me up on my offer, I suppose we can wait," I said.

"We will wait. Perhaps one day, you will know. But…I still trust you," Erik said, finally getting up from the floor. "Yes," I murmured, giving him a smile.

After that day, Erik and I were closer. He never mentioned anything of that moment. However, I could feel myself beginning to open up to my teacher. And Erik, he seemed…more lighthearted than ever. Heaviness did not weigh down his every word, and he seemed to be a more compassionate man. This change did not go unnoticed with me.

As time went on, and my training progressed, I soon realized that Erik was purposefully not teaching me the female/male duet part of the opera.

"Monsieur Erik…."

"Yes, my dear?" "Why are we not rehearsing the duet between Anita and her lover Darren? It is next in the sheet music, and yet you skipped it to go to the third aria," I said. "Well… we don't have anyone to sing the male part," He said. "Erik, you could sing the part," I said, folding my arms across my chest and frowning.

Erik gave me a weak smile. "The last time I sang with you, you became rather…reckless," he said, instantly bringing back the memory of the unmasking of my teacher. "Please monsieur. We really have to rehearse this part. How else would the opera survive?' I said, giving him one of my smiles that I knew he wouldn't be able to deny.

He seemed hesitant. "Monsieur, do you really think I am so weak minded that I will not be able to control myself? You really don't give me enough credit!" I said, laughing. "All right then," he said, giving in.

"Now, this aria is the first attraction between the two lovers. Love at first sight, basically. Irrational, innocent, yet full of love. Therefore, you must keep your voice at this level, while still being beautiful sounding," he said, rattling off the notes like a school teacher. Then he gave me my part. "You stand here, while I cross to stage right. Remember I see you first, then you notice." He ran over to the piano, playing the first few notes.

After clearing his throat, he began.

Sweet as her sighs, pretty as spring…. How can this be?

He immediately launched into the duet, praising Anita's features, begging her to say her name. I responded with each choreographed and written response, and yet, it didn't feel scripted. It felt so natural, and I started top believe that I was Anita. Erik's…I mean, Darren's voice wove that world for me, and it felt just so normal to respond to him this way. Our voices started to blend, and I felt so lost within the music.

Then, Erik stopped. "Erik?" I asked, tilting my head to the side. "Ah… you mistook the tempo. This is supposed to be a quick timing, not smooth and legato." He seemed rather nervous. He seemed to be hiding something. "Should we go on?" I asked, eyeing him suspiciously. "Yes, yes of course. From the beginning!" He said, rushing over to the organ.

After that, Erik seemed to rein it in, in regards to losing himself in the character. He later said it was because he wanted to challenge my acting ability, that he didn't want to do all the work for me, especially since, in his opinion, Piangi would not be as receptive towards me. And yes, while I did improve more than I would have, I found myself missing those free moments of music, where he simply lost himself.

Erik was hiding something. He was hiding _many_ things.

(Hey anybody who's reading! Thanks to the people who have been reviewing! Its REALLY appreciated! TO everybody else, PLEASE REVIEW! It makes the story even better!)


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